


Fight Me

by mintedpotters



Series: MCUniverse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Chronic Illness, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton & Sam Wilson Friendship, Clint Barton & Steve Rogers Friendship, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintedpotters/pseuds/mintedpotters
Summary: Steve flirts with the cute nurse. By trying to fight him. Good going, Steve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr text post that made me laugh way too much.

"Jeez, Rogers, why do you always gotta get involved, man?" Sam Wilson sighed exasperatedly as he helped his friend limp into the local clinic. 

"They can't just push 'er around like that!" Steve Rogers replied, indignant. He glared at Sam through his swollen black eye. 

"Yeah, I know, but really? Six on one?" Sam raised an eyebrow. 

"Exactly, it wasn't fair. She's a _kid,_ Sam, what did'ya expect me to do? Keep walking?" Steve huffed. His lungs, still frail from his last infection and the cold air, rattled alarmingly. 

"I meant- y'know what, never mind. Let's just be glad it ain't nothing fatal, alright?" 

"I'm not some delicate flower, Sam, I'm _fine,"_ Steve insisted, and made to push his friend's supporting arm away from his waist. The movement sent hot sparks of pain up through his - probably broken - arm, and he gritted his teeth harshly. 

"Right. You're fine. Let's just get you seen to, alright? Then you can yell at me all you want," Sam compromised. 

The nurse at the front desk was a man with shoulder-length brown hair. He looked up as Steve and Sam approached. 

"Hi there, can I help you?" The nurse asked, a crease forming between his brows as Steve's wheezing became louder. 

"I'm _fine,"_ Steve huffed. 

"Right, okay, since you ain't gonna tell him," Sam turned to the nurse. "He got in a fight with six guys. They were harassing some kid-"

"Not _some kid,_ Sam, they were going after Wanda. They wouldn't leave her alone," Steve interjected. 

"Wanda... Wanda Maximoff?" The nurse asked, an eyebrow raised. 

"You know her?" Sam asked. 

"She's my foster sister. Took her and her brother Pietro a few years back. Is she okay?" The nurse asked. 

"Sam called her a cab, I gave her money for the fare. She said she was going to find her brother," Steve said, nodding. 

"Good. Pete will take care of her." The nurse looked Steve over. "Six guys, you said?" He asked Sam without turning away from Steve. 

"Yeah. Big fellas, too. Construction workers, I'd guess." 

"Shit," the nurse said, raising both eyebrows now. His eyes widened, and Steve noticed they were a strange mix of blue and grey. "Alright, let's get you sorted out, Mr...?" 

"Rogers. Steve Rogers," Steve said. 

"Barnes. Bucky Barnes," the nurse smiled. 

"I'm Sam," Sam added. 

"Right well, now that introductions are done, let's see what sort of damage you've done to yourself, shall we?" Bucky Barnes stood up behind the desk and lead the way to an examination room, separated from the waiting room by a short corridor. 

"Would you prefer having your, uh, friend in the room with you, Mr Rogers?" Bucky asked. He glanced between Sam and Steve, noting the way Sam's arm was still wrapped around Steve's waist. 

"Sam's okay, he can come in if he wants," Steve said, glancing over at Sam before looking back at Bucky. 

"Alright, in we go then." 

\---

A few hours later, Sam and Steve left the clinic. Steve's left arm wasn't broken, as he'd feared, just sprained. The pain had faded to a dull ache, thanks to the lovely painkillers he'd been given. His ribs were bruised and his eye had swollen shut. He had three broken fingers in his right hand, and he suspected he wouldn't be able to eat much at dinner thanks to the blossoming bruises covering his abdomen. 

But through it all, he was grinning like a loon. 

"Sam, Sam... Sammy," Steve poked Sam's arm each time he said his name, like a punctuation mark. 

"Yes, Steve?" 

"That nurse was real cute, don't'ya think?" 

"Sure, Steve," Sam agreed. 

"Like... he was _really_ cute... Do ya think he liked me?" Steve pestered. 

"Sure, Steve, he liked you. But don't go getting into more fights just to see him, alright?" 

"Hm, okay..." Steve leaned his head back against the headrest of the passenger seat in Sam's car. "He was really cute, Sam, did'ya see?" 

"Yeah buddy, I saw. Let's get you home, yeah?" 

"Alright," Steve agreed easily. 

\---

That should've been the end of it, but no. Steve had terrible luck and an even worse immune system. He was born with something called cystic fibrosis, a genetic lung disease. Living in New York didn't help; the winters were unforgiving. So of course, it would follow that one afternoon, while Steve was laid up in the apartment he shared with Sam and Natasha, he heard the distinct sound of the neighbourhood stray yowling beneath his window. 

Steve forced himself up and over to the window, peering out into the frigid alley. There, a group of young boys, probably no older than seventeen, were throwing things at an underfed dog. As Steve watched, one boy hefted a broken glass bottle and hurled it at the stray's side. The dog howled in pain and the boys laughed cruelly. Steve felt his blood boiling. 

"Oi! Get off him!" Steve shouted from his window on the second floor. The boys looked up and laughed in his face. 

"Or what? You gonna tell your mom on us, kid?" The oldest boy - clearly the leader, the one who hurled the glass - shouted back. A vicious grin split his ugly face. 

"Or I'm gonna show you just how bad glass in the side fucking hurts, you pig!" Steve retorted angrily. 

"Come on down then, little boy!" They taunted. "Unless you're too much of a coward!" 

That was it, that was the trigger. Steve threw off his duvet that he'd dragged to the window, and climbed out onto the fire escape in just his slacks and a T-shirt. The boys below laughed, and Steve heard one of them call up. 

"Got a fucking death wish, Pixie?" 

Of course, wearing thin clothes, outside, in the middle of January, in Brooklyn of all places... yeah, the thought 'death wish' definitely comes to mind. But Steve was replaying the sound of the dog crying in his head on repeat. The heat of his rage kept the cold at bay. 

"You think it's fucking funny to beat on a dog?" Steve rounded on the leader once he hit the ground. "You think it's fun to beat on something that can't defend itself?" 

"It's a fucking vicious mutt, it's better off dead anyway," the boy defended himself. 

"Really? Cause the only _vicious mutt_ I'm seeing round here is you," Steve said. His fists clenched by his side, he waited for the boy to take his swing, because they always did. "What's the matter, ain't got nothing else to say?" 

"You're a fucking pussy, who gives a shit about some stray?" The boy spat. "It's a good for nothing waste of space." 

"Could say the same for you," Steve shrugged. "But whatever, you're clearly too cowardly to fight something that can hit back, so-"

That's when the swing came. 

The boy's fist caught Steve right in the jaw, knocking his head to the side. He shook it off, and glared at the boy, raising his own fists. He rolled his shoulders and grinned. 

"I can do this all day." 

\---

Sam and Natasha found him, passed out and bloody, in the back of the alley with the stray dog curled protectively around him. Sam soothed the dog as best he could, trying to convey that he and Natasha were friendly, that they weren't going to hurt Steve. 

Eventually, the dog moved out of the way for them, and Sam caught sight of the wounds on the animal's side. 

"I'll take him to the vet. You get Steve to the damn clinic," Natasha said. She was already leading the dog toward her car. It limped along beside her tentatively, but got in the car without much fuss. Nat drove off just as Sam hoisted Steve up into his arms and started to jog out of the alley. He flagged down a cab, and begged the driver to go as fast as he could. 

They reached the clinic in mere minutes, and Sam tossed a few crumpled bills through the divider. 

"Keep the change!" He called as he pulled Steve out of the cab. He jogged into the building and hated every second that Steve's eyes weren't opening. 

\---

Steve opened his eyes to bright white lights. He closed them again with a groan. 

"Steve?! Steve, you awake, pal?" 

"Shut it, Sam, not too loud." 

"Shut it yourself, Nat." 

Steve groaned again, this time in response to the noise. He heard his friends both suck in a breath. 

"Steve? You with us?" Natasha asked softly, somewhere off to his right. Bless her, standing on his good side. 

"What happened?" He groaned. "Feel like... got hit by a semi." 

"You look like it too," Nat told him. He felt her hand cover his. "You done scaring us half to death yet?" 

"Nah," Steve breathed out. "Where am I?" 

"Hospital." Sam's voice was rough, further away than Nat's, but there nonetheless. 

"Oh fuck," Steve sighed. The sigh turned into a coughing fit, and he tried to raise a hand to cover his mouth. It sent sharp licks of pain up his whole left side, which sparked another coughing fit. Once it was over, he collapsed into the mattress again, losing all the tension in his body. 

"You just had to-" Sam cut himself off. His voice was shaking, either with anger or upset. "You just had to go out in that alley... how many was it this time? Six? Eight?" 

"Four," Steve said. "They were beating a stray- wait, what happened to the dog? Is he alright?" 

"It's a she, and she'll be fine. She's with Clint," Natasha said. 

"Good. She's a good dog, she didn't deserve what they were doing." Steve slumped against the pillows again. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel Sam's glare. "Oh, just yell at me and get it over with, Sam." 

"It was thirteen degrees out, Steve! Thirteen! And you go out without shoes, or a jacket or nothing?" Sam was pacing, Steve knew. He always paced when he got mad. 

"I had to help the dog, Sam. They were throwing glass at her." 

"So? Why does every problem have to be _your_ problem? You're gonna get yourself killed one day, Steve." 

"At least I'll die for something, then," Steve snapped. Just then, the door opened. 

"Just need to check your vitals, if that's alright?" 

"Fight me," Steve huffed. 

"I think you've fought enough for one day, don't you?" The nurse answered, but his voice sounded familiar. Steve opened his eyes. 

"Hey, it's Bucky Barnes," Steve said. "Thought you worked at the clinic?" 

"I temp for the clinic. I work here most of the time," Bucky said. He looked different with his hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. He'd even shaved. 

"Well, how soon can I get outta here?" Steve asked. 

"That's up to the doctors, not me. But you, uh, you lost a lot of blood... and I'm sure you can tell you're pretty beat up. Not to mention, your lungs-"

"Yeah, okay, I'm a bit of a mess. How soon can I leave?" 

"I'd say... two days? Maybe more. It depends on your injuries, Steve." Bucky checked something on the notepad he held. "Like I said, it's not up to me." 

Bucky left shortly after that, and Steve closed his eyes again, not wanting to meet the gazes of his two best friends. 

"Well?" Sam prompted. 

"Well what?" Steve asked. 

"Well, do you want me to bring your sketchpad for you?" Sam elaborated. 

"Why would I need it. You heard him. Two days." 

"No, I heard a nurse's estimate, an estimate dependent on your recovery. That's not a definite answer. You might have to stay longer." 

"I'm fine, Sam, you don't have to baby me," Steve huffed, opening his eyes to glare at his lifelong friend.  

"I'm not trying to baby you, Steve, I wish you'd get that," Sam sighed. 

"We're going to lunch," Natasha cut in, thankfully. "Want us to bring you something?" 

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry," Steve said. 

"Okay. Get some rest. They're giving you the good stuff here." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Try not to get into a fight over the last pudding cup, okay?" 

"I'll try to restrain myself," Steve smirked. 

"Good." Natasha strode to the door. "Come along, Samuel." 

"I'm not a dog, Nat," Sam said, even as he walked to her side. They left together, still bickering in that annoying way couples do. 

Steve let his head fall back into the soft pillows and closed his eyes again. This time, he slept. 

\---

He woke up about nine hours later, thanks to a horrible coughing fit that left him hacking up phlegm. He spied a box of tissues on his nightstand and spat his mouthful of mucus into several tissues before wadding them up into a ball. 

He slumped back, exhausted, already knowing what was coming on. Pneumonia, again. 

Great. 

\---

A few hours later, he woke again to the sound of the door opening. 

"Checking your vitals," Bucky said with a smile. 

"Fight-" Steve broke off into another gross coughing fit, this time into a handful of tissues he'd grabbed when Bucky came in. 

"Oh, can't fight you now, pal. You'd beat me, easy," Bucky said when the coughing subsided. 

"Don't mock me, Barnes." 

"Wouldn't dream of it, Rogers."

\---

Natasha came to visit later that week, and sure enough, she brought his sketchpad with her, along with a few of his favourite novels and a binder he'd never seen before. 

"What's that?" He asked when she set it on the bed in front of him. 

"Open it." 

Steve opened it, and his jaw dropped. 

"Figured you'd need something to draw," Natasha explained. "You said you wanted to do more figure drawings right?" 

"Yeah, I did," Steve breathed, still taking in the magnificence of the photos in front of him. They were all of Natasha; dancing, fighting, even sleeping, all completely nude. "Nat... you didn't have to take all of these just so I'd have something to sketch-"

"I didn't. They're also for my photography class. Well, the modest ones. But I knew you needed new and interesting poses, and you've never seen me dance before." 

"You are brilliant." Steve grinned at her. "Thank you, this'll give me inspiration for _weeks,_ let alone this hospital stay." 

"Clint offered his services, but I figure you've already seen more than enough of our Clint Barton," Natasha quipped, making Steve blush. 

"It was _one time!"_

"It was multiple times, in my guest room," Natasha corrected. 

"Ah, I seem to have interrupted-" Bucky spoke up from the doorway. Steve blushed even redder and slammed the binder shut. 

"No, it's fine," Steve managed to say at last. 

"I just brought him some new material for his sketchbook, that's all," Natasha said, grinning wickedly. 

"Fuck off," Steve chuckled, "or I'll cough all over you." 

"Oh no, not the dreaded coughing!" Natasha pretended to faint in fear, and Steve nearly fell into an actual coughing fit from laughing. "Actually, though, are you alright?" 

"Just pneumonia, I'll be fine." Steve shrugged carefully. 

"If you insist," Natasha sighed. 

"Sorry, but I gotta check his vitals," Bucky gestured towards the machines beside Natasha. "Would you mind?" 

"Oh! Sorry," she moved out of the way, and Bucky took her place. Steve caught her eye. She nodded at his hands and signed, _"He's cuter than you said."_

 _"Shut up,"_ Steve rolled his eyes as he signed it. 

"Feeling any better today, Rogers?" Bucky asked as he noted something down. 

"Yeah, I'm fine, til I start coughing, then I feel like I've been thrown into a inferno," Steve answered lightly. Natasha rolled her eyes at him. 

"Well, that's unpleasant," Bucky grimaced. 

"That's one word for it." 

"I'm gonna have a chat with your doctor," Bucky said, frowning at his little notebook. 

He left the room quickly, nearly knocking over Sam and Clint in the doorway. Steve's friends stepped into the room. 

"So that was Doctor He's So Cute?" Clint teased. "I'm way cuter than him." 

"Sure, Clint," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "But I'm not into blondes." 

"Really? Because I can name at least three blondes that you were into," said Natasha.

"Quite deeply," said Sam. 

"And _frequently,"_ Clint added. 

"I hate all of you," Steve groaned.

\---

Bucky came back later, after dinner had been served and visiting hours were long over. 

"Fight me," Steve grumbled from where he lay, half asleep, with the sheets up under his chin. 

"Maybe later," Bucky answered softly. "I got good news for you, pal." 

"Hm?" 

"They're starting your pneumonia medication in the morning. You'll be out of here by Friday." 

"What day is it now?" 

"Tuesday." 

"That's good," Steve said around a yawn. 

"Get some sleep, Steve, I just wanted to tell you the good news myself," Bucky said. 

"Thanks, Buck," Steve sighed, burrowing deeper into the blankets. He fell asleep very quickly. 

\---

By Friday, he was feeling almost normal again. He was still coughing, but it was dry now, and his bruises and cuts from his beating were well on their way to being healed. Natasha wheeled him down to the lobby in the wheelchair one of the nurses - not Bucky - had brought for him. 

Bucky was nowhere to be seen when they reached the reception desk, but the nurse who signed his discharge papers looked up when she read Steve's name. 

"You're Rogers? Room 107?" 

"Yeah, that's me, why?" 

"Nurse Barnes left this here when he clocked out this morning. Told me to give it to you when you got discharged." The nurse handed over a folded slip of paper with Steve's name and room number neatly printed on the front. Steve opened it, and laughed. 

_Hey Rogers,_

_Fight me:_

_555-0159_

_B. Barnes_

_\---_

_**Fin.** _


End file.
